It took my mind a few seconds to recalibrate. I was not still in the Marines. I was not in a field exercise or a warzone. I was in a cabin, in the Maine wilderness. What force, and what sound then shook the cabin so much as to wake me from my deathlike slumber?
I stumbled to the window and peered out. As the cloud of unconsciousness lifted it all became clear. Another storm had blown in. This one, far more severe than two nights prior. It would lay ten more inches of fresh snow by the time it was done. The snow had accumulated on the metal roof until it slid off in an avalanche of its own weight. That’s what had startled me.
“Higher level, bigger devils,” I said to myself. I believe that everyone who would shake themselves from slumber and do great things will encounter greater obstacles, trials and tribulations as they strive.
I had hoped this day overland from Chesuncook Lake to the north shore of Moosehead Lake would offer some reprieve from the overflow of the flooded lakes. Instead, I would be contending with new, fresh, unpacked snow. This expedition was determined not to let me have a day of ease.
Thankfully, there was some good news. The two wheel dogs that had diarrhea in the beginning had reverted to solid stool a couple days back. And everyone was eating, so long as meat was on the menu.
Also, an outdoorsman had committed to driving a snowmobile up from Moosehead, through Seboomook to scout my trail. He said he’d meet me at the Chesuncook House at 7:30am to report his findings. I had only to wait for him, I thought, to at least have a single snowmobile track south to aid in damping down the fresh snow.
David offered, “Tell you what. I’ll head south down to the Golden Road and back. That way you won’t have to completely break trail. Hopefully he will have passed through before you travel that 15 miles.”
Within a couple miles of the Chesuncook House, Sawyer stopped on me. I was convinced at this point that it was not for exhaustion but for a lack of confidence in the deep snow. But Sawyer is blind, I reminded myself. He’s an honest dog. He can’t help that he cannot trust the ever-altering terrain.
It is in moments like this in my life where my Marine Corps mentality sees me through. I conquered one trial after another by breaking them down in my mind: “I’m not sure if I can finish this five-mile run, but I can run to the next streetlight without collapsing.”
A few miles past the Golden Road, I checked my map and compass. It was Lobster Lake. I had missed the point where I should have left the trail. Now we would have to turn around and go back up the ridge we’d been descending. Remarkably, even with the hill climbing, the dogs maintained their improved speed.
We joined the Seboomook Road. Our fast pace continued unchecked. It is amazing the difference two hours made in my optimism and, I truly believe, in the optimism of my team.
Northeast Carry is famous as the portage Henry David Thoreau made from Moosehead Lake to the Penobscot River about one hundred and seventy years ago. Thoreau was really the first to suggest that America set aside national parks for the citizens to enjoy, and he made that suggestion from the inspiration he received exploring these very same forests.
At Northeast Carry, Ed Raymond was feeding the deer out of a five-gallon pail. Ed hesitated about the trail, “There is a trail, but it goes through my deer yard.” I assured him my dogs wouldn’t leave the trail. “Hike!” I commanded, and the dogs took off like a missile. The deer exploded in every direction, but the team maintained their discipline and shot through.
Darkness and the full moon overtook us. I lived here in these woods a decade ago as the “Seboomook Ranger” for the Maine Forest Service. In the solitude of this place, the darkness of depression once pressed in on my soul until it almost extinguished it. I hadn’t been back here since I struggled with those demons.
At long last, I arrived at Seboomook Wilderness Camp. Norm and Whitney came out to greet me with deer chili on the stove. I laid out the straw bedding and fed the dogs.
I stepped out into the subzero night to call my wife, Tammie. When the call ended, I looked up at Orion in the vibrant night sky. It was fitting that my last night of the expedition would be spent here. To come back, not as I left—defeated—but to return as an overcomer.
“Perhaps now,” I said to myself, “when I think of this place, I will think of it with joy rather than sadness. Seboomook, we are at peace.”
Please join me next time as I chronicle my last day of the expedition. If you are enjoying this, please consider partnering with us in erecting a statue to Togo:
